Little One
by Mikha
Summary: Saphira contends with the little one over issues beyond himself.


Saphira opened one eye slightly, just to make sure. She had kept on checking on him all night, lest he tried to make an escape, or anything else stupid of the sort. She had to do all the job.

He eyed her wearily, knowing he was trapped. Whatever he attempted, it seemed to him she would anticipate it, so he held still. His wishes were very different. He longed to be in different company. Maybe if he just…

_Don't even think about it, little one. You're not going anywhere._

_But…_

The growl Saphira gave had him shutting up, resting his head on the ground and closing his eyes. He grunted himself.

If he weren't wounded and weak, he'd sure make an escape. True, his wounds had been healed, but his strength had still to return, and, as such, he knew he was no match for Saphira.

_Give it up, little one_, she said, humming deeply in her chest, this time with both eyes open, looking at him as directly as she could. _You're not going anywhere._

_You've already said that… Stop treating me like a hatchling!_

_Isn't that what you are?_

Ego hurt, he said nothing more. If there was something that disturbed him greatly, was when others reminded him of his age. It seemed that it was the trademark of his being, his young age, and even the drastic changes he had gone through, had done nothing to help him earn the complete respect of others around him.

No. It was as if he were doomed to be a hatchling forever, no matter the appearances. No matter how much he grew, how much wiser he got… it was a doomed case.

He kept replaying the battle in his head, trying to see if he had done something wrong. Had he attacked at the wrong time? Had he not used enough power? Had his battling style somehow compromised him? Perhaps more force would have helped? And why… why… after seeing him in action so many times now, couldn't Saphira at least show some respect for him? He wasn't a defenceless hatchling, as she seemed to think him. No, he was much more than that! He was… tired.

He grunted, wishing for his strength back. He had intended to scare her, but he should have known better. A dragon her size was not easily intimidated, not even by one such as him.

_Try to sleep, little one. Tomorrow will be a difficult day. Just wait until everyone sees you… _She tried not to be too obvious, but she couldn't help it. A chuckle escaped her. _Now that will be worth seeing._

And for the first time that night, he felt fear. During the battle he had been fearless, for he knew what their goal was, and what they were trying to achieve. It was worth getting hurt, it was worth feeling this wretched. Perhaps it was even worth her company. But the Varden was a prospect he had not thought on kindly. He had some issues with them, just as they had a lot of issues with him, some of which they might not be able to forgive. Some of which he might not be able to accommodate. His pride was strong, and it was not false. In his eyes, perhaps even some respect was due; though, it had to admit, it went both ways.

_You enjoy tormenting me_, he sentenced.

_Perhaps just a little bit_, she hummed again, humour clear in the tune of her mind. _But, seriously, little one, get some sleep. I won't be carrying you tomorrow._

_Very funny._

With nothing else to tell her, and feeling very much alone, he closed his eyes, wishing the morning never to come. It was all to painful to imagine.

Perhaps even Galbatorix's rage wouldn't be as bad as the Varden's.

***

His dreams tormented him. In them, he felt as if he were in an endless void which swallowed him whole, with no chance of escaping. To him, it was as if his very essence had been lost in that moment of decision, which he now wasn't sure was the right one. But he had been so sure… he had needed it, to escape, to make a run for it.

To start anew.

But his dreams were not cheerful, nor did they offer him any comfort No, all they did was rob him of whatever courage he had managed to muster, whatever strength he had left.

***

The morning was misty. Not the kind of morning when one wants to get up early. He was reluctant to do so, and kept his eyes closed, very much aware of Saphira's glare on him. If she would only look away… she made him uncomfortable. She had managed that which he had judged impossible until very recently: making him feel insignificant.

_Well, you are a lazy one_, she snorted. She was looking at him amused now.

_Leave me alone._

_We have to be going soon. They'll be back any second now, can't you feel them?_

_Of course I can!_

He was annoyed, very much so. In his short life, he had never supposed anyone would be capable of annoying him like that, but Saphira had done it. Her babying of, her making fun of him… even if, he had to admit it, it seemed playful and completely harmless… her insistence, her…

He held completely still, but his eyes shot open, as he felt the tip of her nose on his side, nudging him. It was sudden, and it was surprising. But, most of all, it was pleasant.

_Up you get, little one,_ she said contentedly.

_Will you stop that? _he protested. _I am bigger than you!_

She burst out laughing.

_Sure, whatever you say._

Very much annoyed now, he stood up to his full height. He did tower over her, but she still did not look the least bit intimidated. In fact, she was even more amused now.

_What's so funny?!_

_You are, _she said, kindly now. _Little one, I don't care how much magic Galbatorix used on you, how much he made you grow. You are still no more than a hatchling, an overlarge one. You have little control over your body, a body you no longer understand._

_You…_

_Hey, I understand. He meddled with things that ought not to be meddled with._

_You are the meddling one!_

She hummed again, rubbing the top of her head just below his, against the side of his neck, making him freeze.

_Give it up, Thorn. Until you have grown sufficiently on your own, you'll be a little one to me. Just like Eragon._

He looked away, his annoyance ebbing away. Deep down he knew her words held some true, but only a little. Perhaps the pain and confusion of changing his real name along with Murtagh, the punishments by Galbatorix, all the suffering they had gone through, had been worth it, if only for this moment, when one of his own kind, a female, was nuzzling him as if he were something precious.

Perhaps someone, Murtagh aside, would value him for whom and what he was. Perhaps being her little one wasn't so bad after all.


End file.
